


Sharing Blankets

by keelywolfe



Category: British Actor RPF, The Hobbit RPF
Genre: Fluff and Smut, M/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-16
Updated: 2015-03-16
Packaged: 2018-03-18 02:18:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3552329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keelywolfe/pseuds/keelywolfe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They'd been assured that it was tradition to camp out on the set at least once. All the crew from the first movie, even the actors, had informed them that it was true, we swear, must camp out with beer and sausages and blankets. It was a rule.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sharing Blankets

**Author's Note:**

> To be honest, I don't remember finishing this story up! I know I started writing it back before AUJ came out, before I fell hard for the Thorin/Bilbo pairing. At the time, I expected I would be expanding on my Sherlock pairing rather than finding a new one. 
> 
> Still, I can't help but love Benedict, so I thought I'd share this anyway. Enjoy!

* * *

They'd been assured that it was tradition to camp out on the set at least once. All the crew from the first movie, even the actors, had informed them that it was true, we swear, must camp out with beer and sausages and blankets. It was a rule. 

It was the only explanation possible for Martin ending up out in the cold, fuck's forsaken wilderness with a group of drunken New Zealander's, Brits, and fucking hell, did he mention yet that it was cold? Because it was enough to freeze the tits off a fellow, it really was. 

'Course, it might be warmer by the fire. Sometime in the night Martin had wandered a bit away from the roar and ruckus. They were actually going to film tomorrow and Martin was a tad too old to be going on without any sleep at all. And it was cold away from the fire but Martin had a thick blanket and was nursing his last bottle of beer. Alcohol warmed you, didn't it? Or at least it made you care a bit less about the cold. 

He was drowsing, bottle falling lax in his hand when he startled awake at the feel of someone taking it from him. A tall, familiar outline in the darkness, head tipped back as he took a long drink. "Running away, are we?" Benedict asked, soft and amused. 

Martin shook his head. 

"I'm too old for this mucking about," Martin said ruefully, dragging his corner of the blanket down enough to cover his feet.

"Idiot," Benedict said, not unkindly, offering him the bottle back. "Have another drink, it'll warm you."

"S'not true, you know," Martin informed him. Lovely, that, now he was remember old trivia. "Getting pissed is a great way to end up with hypothermia."

"If you can get pissed on half a beer then you really are too old for this and also, you've turned into a girl."

"Piss off."

"A girl's blouse."

"I'm going to hurt you, I really am," Martin told him regretfully, "You're covered in CGI, it won't matter if you have any bruises."

"A BIG girl's blouse. Huge. The size of a circus tent."

"All right, that's enough of that," Martin tipped his head back, swallowing down the last dregs of beer before he tossed the bottle aside and gave the blanket a hearty tug, ripping in free of Benedict's grip. He quickly wrapped up in the length of it, swaddling into it like a mummy.

"Oi!" Benedict protested and Martin couldn't hold back a laugh as Benedict's hands slid over him determinedly, ticklishly, trying to find a free corner.

"Stop it!" Martin snickered, "I'm not giving it back. You lost your rights."

"And you laugh like a girl, too," Benedict informed him smugly. He managed to worm one hand beneath the blanket and Martin squawked when it didn't stop, a cold, bare hand pushing underneath his shirt to rest against his chest.

"Fuck you, you prissy bastard, I saw what clothes you packed for tromping about in the woods. Call me a girl, will you."

"Fuck you? Oh, can I?" Benedict's mouth was suddenly warm against his ear and Martin swallowed hard, startled, mostly trapped by the blanket and Benedict sprawled on top of him.

"That is not what I said," Martin protested, weakly, and he did not tip his head up when Benedict pressed a soft, wet kiss just below his ear. Really, he didn't and he certainly didn't think it felt lovely against skin that was a bit raw from wearing prosthetic ears all day long.

"Oh, I'm quite sure I heard you say I could fuck you," Benedict voice was gravely solemn but Martin could feel him smile against his neck.

"I did not, you horny bastard," Martin gasped a bit as Benedict's mouth slid lower, leaving behind a trail of spit to cool in the chilly air. "No marks, you arse! I'm not explaining anything to the makeup people tomorrow."

"No marks," Benedict promised. His mouth was nothing but a point of soft wetness, sliding down Martin's throat, pausing at the edge of the blanket before he asked with quiet seriousness, "Martin? Can I?"

Not nearly far enough away, Martin could hear the murmur of chatting voices, the glow from the fire close enough that they could follow it back to camp. Benedict had shifted, moved so he was straddling Martin's lap, his slight body surprisingly heavy. Two cold hands cupped Martin's cheeks, icy against his too-hot face and Martin couldn't quite see in the darkness, nothing more than the wet gleam of Benedict's eyes so close to his own.

Every part of him was terribly close to Martin, separated only by their clothes and a blanket, his breath a warm gust of dampness against Martin's face as he leaned in, murmuring softly, "Martin?"

As though he needed to ask, Martin thought wryly, and instead of words, he tipped his head up, let his lips brush over Benedict's cold, chapped ones.

They warmed quickly, parting beneath the pressure of Martin's mouth and for a long minute all of Martin's senses were overwhelmed with the slick taste of Benny's tongue against his own, bitter with beer and soft with fondness. Oh, you pretty thing, Martin thought, helplessly, slid both hands into Benedict's hair. It was considerably shorter than it had been the last time they'd done this and Martin soothed himself with rubbing his fingers against Benedict's scalp, catching his soft, contented groan between their lips.

Voices, slurred with more beer than the little bit he and Benedict had shared came too close into the range of Martin's hearing and he pulled away with a gasp, tightening his arms around Benny when he would have scrambled off his lap.

"Hold still," Martin whispered into his ear, more breath than sound. Benedict nodded shallowly, hardly breathing as he clung to silence and Martin in equal part as two large, hairy men wandered terribly close to them, staggering into the darkness.

Martin kept his own breathing light, mouth pressed against Benny's ear. Close enough that he could feel each exhale stir the fine, short hairs around it ticklishly.

Benedict squirmed, inhaling sharply and Martin bit back a groan, yanking those slim hips to still him because Benny had forgotten somewhere along the line that he was right _in_ Martin's lap and squirming right there was not on with keeping quiet.

The low murmur of voices was replaced by the running liquid sound of someone taking a hearty piss. No, two someone's and he felt it the moment Benedict heard it too, his slender shoulders shaking in silent laughter. Martin hid his grin against Benedict's shoulder, biting back his own laughter.

Christ, they were having off in the middle of the woods, not twenty feet from an entire production crew. They were nutters, the both of them, had to be, absolutely bonkers, and Martin's lungs burned with the need to laugh.

He nearly gagged on his own breath when Benedict shifted in his lap helpfully, rolling his hips against Martin's in an entirely lovely and extremely _un_ helpful way.

"Don't," Martin mouthed, stifling another groan as he was ignored, Benedict _grinding_ down on him now, fuck, he had a lovely, rounded arse for such a skinny bloke.

"You said I could fuck you," Benedict breathed against him, rocking his hips hard enough that Martin winced, struggling with the blanket enough to reach between them and adjust his cock in his trousers before his zipper left a permanent mark.

"Did not," Martin let the words seep out on an exhale, heard voices getting louder as the hairy blokes finished up and shook off, heading back towards the fire in a low roar of laughter and conversation, words so thick with their accent that Martin couldn't make out what was so hilarious. Not that he cared, with Benny squirming in his lap, his mouth wet against Martin's ear as he bit purposefully at the rounded top.

Martin only just caught himself from snapping out, "No marks!"

"Quite sure you did," Benedict argued in a hushed whisper. "Positive I heard you say I could fuck you."

"I can't say what you heard but I know what I said, and I did not say you could fuck me," Martin was laughing breathily, sliding his hands down Benny's wind-chilled back to fill his hands with the warmer curves of his bum. "Let you do a few other things, though, you pretty little twat."

In revenge, Benedict bit the tip of his nose, making Martin swear and jerk back, sputtering.

"I'm not explaining teeth marks anywhere, least of all on my face! Keep your pearly whites to yourself, you prat!"

"Twat, prat. Quite the mouth on you today."

Martin very nearly added bitch to his list, would have if Benedict hadn't decided to give his mouth a more personal inspection. His lips were cold but his tongue was warm, sliding against Martin's in luxurious sweeps. 

"Pretty," Martin mumbled into the sweetness of that mouth, fuck, and he felt Benny smile against him.

"You say that a lot," Benedict teased. "Think it says more about you than me, girly."

It was hard to focus with Benedict pressed tight against him, the swathes of blanket not nearly enough of a barrier. Not when Benny shifted, sliding his legs around to hook his ankles together at the small of Martin's back, left him with a lapful of squirming, too-pretty man who seemed intent on kissing bruises into Martin's mouth. 

"Think…think this is a better position for me to fuck you," Martin managed and he gave his two-handfuls of Benny's arse a firm squeeze. 

Benedict only laughed into his mouth, catching Martin's lower lip between his teeth with incredible tenderness. "I don't think either of us is fucking anyone," he confessed, slicking his tongue over the edge of Martin's teeth. "Might be messing up our trousers though."

"Yes," Martin whispered, catching on the end of a moan and he hitched his hips upward, rocking into Benedict's wriggling, finding a rhythm between them. Embarrassing, really, at his age, but he was a little drunk, on strong beer and the taste of Benny's mouth, on the soft, sweet little sounds he was starting to make. His voice took on a higher edge when he was close and Martin could barely see the outline of Benedict's face through the darkness of the night but he could see his eyes were closed and his mouth was wet and open, dragging in harsh breaths and panting out those lovely, soft little moans. 

"Fuck yes, that's it, come on, Benny, come for me," Martin whispered roughly and he tightened his grip on Benedict's arse, forced him to crowd in even tighter, trousers catching and dragging on the blanket, until he choked on another whimper, breath stilling, hitching. Oh, Christ, that was lovely, Benedict going boneless against him, melting like he'd been left out in the sun and Martin had to worm a hand down between them to his own cock, scrubbing the heel of his palm against the hard line of it through his trousers until he had to bite his own lip, holding in the groan that tried to escape.

The blanket was stifling around him and his trousers were a sticky mess that was only going to be more uncomfortable in the morning. Just now, though, with nerves still sparking bright and Benedict curled up against him, his breath ticklish against Martin's neck, he didn't much care. Bugger it all, Martin decided, pressing a blurred kiss against Benny's forehead, tasting his cooling sweat. Maybe he wasn't too old for all this, after all. 

"Martin?" Benedict mumbled, the name half-muffled into Martin's collar. 

"Yes, luv?" Martin pressed a row of kisses into his hair line, tasting sweat and the faint bitterness of product. 

"Not that that wasn't lovely, but I'm bloody freezing. Planning on sharing that blanket some time tonight?"

He considered it, rubbing his nose against the softness of Benny's hair. "I would, but I'm fairly sure you made serious threats about buggering me, not once but many times tonight. How can I trust you, now?"

"Yes, yes, very amusing," Benedict did not sound amused. "I'm fucking cold. Give!"

"Aren't we a whiny bitch in the afterglow?" But Martin shifted enough to lift the edge of the blanket, hissing as Benedict all but threw himself beneath it, wincing at the chilled body snugging up against his own."

"If you had a little more body fat, you wouldn't be so damned cold all the time, you scrawny bastard," he grumbled, but he rubbed his hands up and down Benny's arms, drawing some warmth from him. 

"You'd only start calling me a chubby arse instead," Benedict mumbled, falling instantly into the lulling embrace of shared body warmth and a thick blanket. No stamina, these younger blokes. 

"Probably," Martin conceded, tucking Benny's head underneath his chin and snugging the blanket around them. They were going to have to go back to the fire, eventually; even this blanket wouldn't hold back the chill forever. For now, though, this was quite lovely and Martin closed his eyes and held on, listening to the distant laughter of the others mingling with Benedict's deep, slow breaths. 

-finis-


End file.
